


How(e) Touching

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [19]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Masturbation, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Fergus Cousland can eat my entire ass for breakfast, in the middle of a Chantry mass," Nathaniel snarled, making to wad the letter up.</i>
</p><p><i>"You're going to express that sentiment about another six times before you get to the important part." </i><br/>------<br/>Nathaniel receives some unexpected news. Perhaps not all the Couslands are dead. Maybe the one he's been mourning still lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nathaniel couldn't sleep. He hadn't gotten more than three hours at a time, since Anders and Justice had disappeared, and he had the worst feeling about what had happened to them. The templars were lying, and he was going to go out into the woods and see for himself, as soon as he had a few days to himself, instead of a couple of hours at each end of patrols. But, losing them had him ragged, and he'd been snapping at everything that got too close to him. First his fiancée, then his... whatever the fuck Anders had been. Concubine. That was almost enough to get a tired snicker out of him, as he slipped out onto the parapet, dodging the night guards easily, to situate himself between a ballista and the wall. 

It was cool, out here. Quiet. Dark. He'd been coming out here to be alone since the keep had been his father's, and still no one knew to look for him here. He just needed to be alone with his grief and the bloody interminable throbbing of his knob. And that was a perfectly rational reason to miss Anders. They'd had a purpose for each other. Yet another nightmare function of being a Warden that nobody warned you about until it was too late -- nightmares filled with the swarming horde, the appetite of three men, and the boner that would not die. He was thirty fucking one years old and spent more time covering his inappropriately interested knob than he ever had as a teenager, and that was just deeply wrong on every level. And listening to Oghren go on about it just made it worse. And the fact that thinking about Oghren didn't solve the problem was more horrifying still, but he was slowly getting used to that. There was no way out of this but a long, hard, sweaty fuck, until his body surrendered and the ache finally stopped.

He caught himself picking at his trouser laces, as he thought of Anders's mouth on him, Anders's ass on him, Anders's critically enormous knob tearing him apart inside. And that last one bothered him. It wasn't something he actually _liked_. But, it was something he craved. Anders was big enough that the 'tearing him apart' was completely literal and involved nerve-wracking amounts of blood and pain, if they were too drunk to take it slow. Which was most of the time. But, Anders was a spirit healer, so the pain never lasted more than a few seconds, before he had the soothing warmth of the Maker's love crawling up his ass. And somehow, as good as that felt, it didn't make him feel any better about the whole thing. There was something wrong with him. He'd considered men, before -- it was the sort of thing that came up when you were barely twenty and all but forbidden from interacting with women who didn't outrank you by several orders of magnitude for the better part of a decade. But, he'd never actually been able to go through with it. He'd never been able to get it up, until Anders, and that was because he couldn't get it to go _down_.

But, he'd gotten used to waking up a couple times a night, still too fucked up to give serious thought to getting up, with that long, lean body wrapped around him, Anders muttering another man's name against his shoulder in his sleep. He could've asked, but he never did. They'd both lost enough. They didn't need to talk about it -- except sometimes they did, and they'd get so profoundly drunk to do it that all Nathaniel had left was a fistful of nightmarish snippets of conversations that couldn't have been real. But, if any of what he half-remembered was true... He'd go out to the forest and see the remains of the fire for himself. And the first templar to pull some mealy-mouthed horseshit about 'dangerous mages' on him was going to eat his fist. And that was only if he could hold his temper, but he'd always been good at that. Prided himself on it, really.

He'd find out what happened, even if it was his fault. Even if the answer was that he was never allowed to stick his knob in anyone again, because it'd be the fuck of death.

He snorted at the thought.

His knob throbbed reproachfully against his thigh, demanding attention. And that, Nathaniel knew, was going to end in regret. Of course, not minding it would also end in regret, and at this point in his life it was more about the flavour of regret he felt like dealing with, in the morning. It wasn't like he'd be sleeping anyway. He patted the wall behind him without looking, until he found the loose stone and, behind it, the bottle of dwarven whiskey. He could do hung-over and half-satisfied. He'd be bitchy, but when was he not bitchy, really? Certainly not since he'd come back to Ferelden.

Another night of crying into his whiskey with one hand on his knob. Good times. Although maybe he could keep the crying to a minimum, if he just thought of someone who wasn't dead. Like Commander Amell -- no, that was a horrible decision. First, she'd murder him, then Zevran would make jokes about it. That was one of the least sexy endings he could imagine. Or maybe Velanna, who would probably also murder him, but she hadn't set him on fire or used those terrifying vines for asking. And, really, they'd gotten almost friendly, these last months. So, maybe she wouldn't murder him, and she definitely wasn't dead, and she was definitely very, very much his type -- the type that would murder him as soon as look at him, apparently, now that he thought about it. Every woman he'd really gotten warm for, he'd met under the threat of death. He really had to do something about that. It couldn't be healthy or sane -- but, he was a Grey Warden, now. Healthy and sane were sort of off the table. This life was going to kill him, anyway. It might as well kill him with nice tits and a sparkling personality.

Mmm, sparkling personality... Wasn't that what Anders always claimed to ha-- Oh, Maker, _no_. Nathaniel took a long drink. Anders with nice tits was not on his list of things to consider this evening, and he wasn't sure there was enough whiskey in the world, never mind this bottle, to get that image out of his head.

Velanna. Think about Velanna. Or that gorgeous woman at the brothel with the 'No Wardens' sign on the door, after the last time he and Anders had made a go of it. The last Howe heir, remembered for getting kicked out of brothels because he hadn't the purse to back up the insatiable knob. Of course, he'd been there with Anders and his blighted flagpole of ass destruction, which couldn't possibly have helped. That was before they'd decided to use each other to solve that problem.

Using Anders -- that was a much better image. Anders flushed and panting under him, always twisted to display that slender, pale body to the best advantage. Anders had moved like a whore, in bed, Nathaniel reflected. Always posing, mouth open around sounds he never made. At least, until Nathaniel couldn't keep it up, and then Anders was like a beast, if a strangely gentle one. Driven by raw sensation and desperate need, but with hands that stroked healing into Nathaniel's flesh with every touch. Sometimes, it almost felt like Anders gave a shit, but that was the whiskey talking.

He drank more of the whiskey and slipped his hand down his trousers where he freed his knob from where it lay trapped along his thigh. _Think of someone still alive_ , he reminded himself, wringing the flesh gently in his fist as he stuck the bottom of his shirt in his mouth with the other hand, to keep from dirtying it. But, he couldn't do it. He thought of Anders. He thought of Elissa. He thought of Anders and Elissa at the same time, opening him up, swallowing him down, taking him, tasting him, sucking all the bitterness out of his flesh and his spirit. His hand quickened, pinching roughly at the tip, at the end of each stroke, as his body began to tremble.

"Got a letter for you, Howe." Solona's voice cut through his haze of lust like an axe.

"What --?" Nathaniel's shirt fell out of his mouth and he tugged it down to cover himself, still shivering on the edge of release.

"Letter for you," Solona repeated, leaning on the wall, beside him, casually, as if she hadn't just seen him polishing his own knob. Of course, she'd also walked in on Anders fucking him across her desk, so this had to be an improvement, if only in that it only involved one semi-naked man that wasn't her husband.

"It's the middle of the night, and this isn't my room," Nathaniel pointed out, dumbly, still trying to make sense of the situation.

"You don't sleep, and I know you're up here sharpening the meat-dagger at least three nights a week. Sorry about that, by the way. I'd never figured that for being part of the Joining. I thought that was just long-term exposure to Zevran." Solona produced a folded missive from somewhere in her complicated robes and held it out to him. Nathaniel thought she looked like a magister, but as she'd once correctly pointed out, there was no southern precedent for well-dressed mages in positions of power, aside from First Enchanters.

"Who's it from, that you're bringing it to me now, instead of over breakfast?" Nathaniel asked, taking the letter with the hand not ensuring his continued pretence at modesty.

"Fergus Cousland."

"Fergus Cousland can eat my entire ass for breakfast, in the middle of a Chantry mass," Nathaniel snarled, making to wad the letter up.

"You're going to express that sentiment about another six times before you get to the important part." Solona crouched down to look Nathaniel in the eyes. "I only just got to the mail. He sent it to me, because he wasn't sure you were real, but he'd heard you were here. I'd have brought it to you sooner, if I'd found it sooner, but... You need to know this, and you need to hear it from him, not me."

A chill crept down Nathaniel's spine as he chewed the seal off the letter and flipped it open with one hand.

_Didn't think you'd have the balls to show your face in Ferelden again, after what your father did..._

"I will shove my foot so far up your ass, Cousland!" Nathaniel barked at the note, skimming over the usual casual insults, looking for the point.

_...but, my sister heard you'd come back to fight the darkspawn, and she's in tears at the thought you might be alive. You could have let us know, you dim fuck._

"Elissa..." Suddenly, Nathaniel couldn't catch his breath, and the note fluttered in his loose fingers. Tears filled his eyes and he looked up at Solona, the void of grief opening in his chest again. "Is he telling me the truth, or is this some sort of trap so I'll pay for my father's sins?" The words were thick, spit between choked-off sobs. "She's dead, isn't she? Isn't she dead?"

"The thought had entered my mind," Solona admitted, reaching out to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Listen to me, Nate. I will protect you. _We_ will protect you. You're a Warden, now, and you're not responsible for anything your father did. You weren't even here. So, if it's what you want, here's what we'll do. I'll invite them both and a small contingent of their guards to come stay with us for a few days. And I'll also ask Anora if we can borrow some of her personal guard to protect all of us from each other. Whatever happens, the Queen's Guard will be our witness."

Nathaniel closed his eyes and the tears started to fall. "Do it. I have to know. And if he's lying to me..."

"You'll let me handle it." Solona's voice was like iron. "An assassination attempt on a Grey Warden by the Teyrn of Highever? Well, we all know how that ended when the Teyrn of Gwaren tried it."

Nathaniel choked on a sob as he tried to laugh through it. "Some of your best friends have tried to kill you, isn't that what you said to me?"

"What can I say? I'm a popular girl." Solona laughed, easily. "I'll send a messenger, tonight. It should be settled in a few days. I'll let you know what's happening, every step of the way."

Nathaniel shifted to his knees, leaning forward to take Solona's hand in both of his. "Thank you."

"No worries." Solona winked at him, as she stood up and rumpled his hair. "You might want to close your trousers, before you get up, though."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus, stop threatening your sister's boyfriend.

Nathaniel had adjusted the buttons on the cuffs of his jacket seventeen times before he made it from his room to the throne room of the keep, which was lined on both sides with the Queen's Guard and Grey Wardens he knew and frequently wanted to push down a flight of stairs. Velanna squeezed his shoulder as he passed her, and Sigrun offered a double thumbs-up.

"You going to be all right? You're looking a little whiffy." Solona took him by both shoulders, as he joined her on the carpet that stretched out toward the door.

"I don't know," Nathaniel replied, honestly, his vision shrinking to that long stretch of red, as he struggled to remember to breathe.

"You sure about this?" Solona asked.

"Bring him in," Nathaniel breathed, black spots swimming across his vision.

Solona gestured at the door, and the guards pulled it open. Fergus Cousland made his way up the room looking almost exactly like his father had, too many years ago, and what little colour was left in Nathaniel's face drained away.

"I'm sorry about my father," Nathaniel said, quietly, as Fergus stopped before him. "And I'm sorry about your family. I didn't know. You can't imagine I'd have known and let him do that without a word to your sister."

"Yeah, actually, I could imagine," Fergus muttered, crossing his arms. "Sounded like the kind of coward thing you'd do to get out of marrying her."

"Get out of marrying her? Have you lost your mind? All I've wanted out of life for twenty years is to spend the rest of mine with your sister!" Horror and confusion broke across Nathaniel's face. "And on that note, I'm not sorry I set your ass on fire, that one time."

"And I'm not sorry I kicked you in the balls so hard your nose bled," Fergus shot back. "Do you really think she's going to take you back after this?"

"That's up to her, and no amount of you posturing's going to change that, _Fergus_." Like they were kids again. Nathaniel shook his head and laughed. "It'll kill me if she doesn't, but if she's happy, what difference does it make? I'm a Warden. I'm dead anyway."

"You're a coward and an idiot, and I'll never understand what she sees in you," Fergus accused, flicking a hand back toward the door. "But, we'll see if she sees it now. It's been ten years, Howe. She's got lovers the age you were when you left."

"It's a matter of stamina, Cousland." Nathaniel smirked. "And I'm a Warden, now."

"That's my sister!" Fergus protested, as the door swung open.

"You brought it up," Nathaniel reminded him, before turning back to face the woman coming toward them.

His breath stuttered and his hands shook, pale face turning grey as he studied her, the fall of her dark curls, the swaying motion of her gait and the way her long skirt swirled with it. The dress looked Tevinter, pinned at the shoulders and flowing around her like some cross between fog and fabric, and all he could think was that she looked like a ghost returned to haunt him for his failure to die at her side. His eyes met hers -- that rich brown the least ghostly thing about her -- and welled up, blinding him.

"Nathaniel."

Her voice bit into him like talons through his chest, as she raised a hand to his cheek, sweeping away the tears that dribbled from his eye with a gloved thumb, silk flowers at her wrist catching on his cheek, where he'd just shaved. He couldn't respond, frozen in place and choking on his own stuttering breath, shivering helplessly at the thought she might be real.

"Why didn't you tell me you were home?" Her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at him, and Fergus noisily shifted with discomfort, beside them.

"Because he's a fucking coward, just like he's always been." Fergus snorted, shoving a hand through his ever-short hair, speckled with grey since Ostagar.

"I thought... you were dead," Nathaniel choked out, hands flicking like they might reach out, and then curling again, at his sides.

"So little faith," she said, a warm smile pressing the tears out of her eyes, as she pulled him down into a chaste kiss.

Nathaniel's body finally uncoiled, arms wrapping around her soft breadth, pulling her to him, as he wept shamelessly against her lips. "Elissa... You-- They told me you were dead. They told me you were all dead. I didn't know. I didn't know any of it."

"I thought you were lost to the Blight," Elissa whispered, kissing him again, longer, deeper, like she might never let go.

Off in the corner of the room, Sigrun started cheering and catcalling, and on the other side of the room, Oghren blew his nose loudly into his palm, wiping it on the guard next to him, before he burst into applause.

"All right, all right, all of you out!" Solona called out to the room, shooing everyone in the direction of the mess hall. "Cake for everyone, but let's leave the happy couple to their soppy reunion."

"You know the miners got a pump for flooding you might want to borrow after this." Oghren chuckled and elbowed Solona, on his way out.

"Maverlies, stay here a little longer and shout if the Crows show up," Solona sighed. "Yes, including my husband. The last thing he needs is this practically Orlesian drama winding him up."

Elissa's hands wandered Nathaniel's body as Maverlies tried to keep an eye on the doors without actually looking at the couple -- a genuine challenge when one door was on one side of them and the other two were on opposite walls beyond them.

"Do you still have your own room, here, or am I going to have to tear this ridiculous outfit off you and have my way with you all over your poor Commander's furniture?" Elissa asked, with a firm squeeze to Nathaniel's ass, voice still thick with tears.

Nathaniel buried his face in her hair and laughed brokenly, trying to get words around the clot in his throat. "I don't advise it. Did I mention she's the Teyrna of Gwaren?"

Elissa's eyes shot to the door Solona had left through. "Is she responsible for that Arainai asshole down there!? Maker, of all the irresponsible-- An elf! An Antivan elf!"

"He punched me in the balls harder than your brother ever did. You slept with him, didn't you?" Nathaniel asked, wryly.

"Not yet. I'm Fergus's only heir. And that's why you didn't know. Nobody knew." Elissa pinched his ass sharply. "None of that answers the other question."

Nathaniel pulled a chain with two keys out of his collar and jingled them. "Part of the arrangement with Solona. I stipulated two rooms were off-limits, and a handful of my family's things were mine."

"What's the other room?" Elissa asked, hooking a hand in the front of Nathaniel's jacket and pulling him in the direction she knew his room had been.

"Delilah's. She doesn't use it much. Married some shopkeep in the city, if you can believe it." Nathaniel laughed and then choked up again, pausing to pull Elissa to his chest. "I thought you were dead. I tried to kill myself."

"Nathaniel!" Elissa's voice was muffled by the heavy cloth.

"Not in the stupid way," Nathaniel reassured her. "In the really stupid way. I... ah..." He cleared his throat.

Across the room, Maverlies choked off a laugh.

"I can hear you Sergeant Maverlies!" Nathaniel announced, loudly. "And you're right!"

This time, the sergeant made no attempt to stifle her laugh.

Elissa pulled back, looking up at Nathaniel, brow quirked and one eye wide. "What did you do?"

"Well... you know... I was trying to reclaim my legacy." Nathaniel cleared his throat again. "I tried to take back the keep... from the Wardens..." He hesitated, the tip of his tongue caught in his teeth, eyes lingering on a corner of the ceiling.

"I know you, Nate. That's not stupid, yet."

Maverlies whooped in amusement.

"Ah..." Nathaniel coughed. "By myself."

"Not... by yourself, by yourself. I mean, you mean you tried to raise a mercenary force with what you had in your pockets, right?" Elissa gazed at Nathaniel in awestruck horror.

"No. I tried to sack the keep alone," Nathaniel admitted. "Drunk."

Elissa rested her head on his chest, laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks. "And that's what Fergus never understood about you. You're a tactical moron, but you've never been a coward."

"Thanks... I think." Nathaniel twitched like he might cover his face, but realised he'd have to take a hand off Elissa to do it. "Fergus says you've got nineteen-year-old lovers. You sure you still want a man of middle years who tried to sack a keep with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and a bow?"

"Well, that depends," Elissa teased. "Did you remember to bring arrows?"

"I'm not as stupid as all that." Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

"He even put one through my shoulder," Maverlies called out, holding up a thumb in approval. "He's a pretty good shot, even when he's trashed! A real keeper, this one!"

"Yes, and I even remembered to wear trousers, too," Nathaniel drawled.

"Mmm, well, if I were teyrna, I'd make it a law that you're not allowed to wear trousers in my presence," Elissa prodded him.

"What a pity. I thought I looked good in these."

"Not as good as I remember you looking out of them." Elissa tugged at his jacket, again.

"I'm not a pretty little dandy, any more," Nathaniel demurred, letting her lead him away. "I've been to war. My legs may not be all you recall..."

"You've been to war. I'm sure they're even nicer, now."

"I'm going to go get cake!" Maverlies called after them. "Don't get killed by the Crows!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A touching reunion extends to an awful lot more touching and a few questionable stories from the past.

Nathaniel lay in the bed he'd grown up with, beside the woman he loved, and even though everything smelled like cedar shavings and dust, he could almost say he was happy, aside from the part where he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something was going to go wrong. Something always went wrong. The bed creaked as she curled closer around him, one hand closing around his knob.

"Still? I don't suppose all those stories about Warden stamina were a joke after all," Elissa teased, nuzzling Nathaniel's cheek.

"You have no idea. It's a horror. I can go all night and wake up in this condition in the morning." Nathaniel rubbed the other side of his face and stared at the ceiling. "I miss being a teenager. It was actually less annoying then. I'm in my thirties -- this isn't a problem I should be having."

"I'm not sure it's that much of a problem." Elissa's eyebrow arced up, and she nibbled along the stubbled edge of Nathaniel's jaw.

"You say that now, but after a whole night of it, you'll understand. I hope you weren't planning on walking tomorrow." Nathaniel chuckled and squeezed the thick curve of Elissa's waist.

"Why should I walk?" Elissa asked airily, flicking a hand. "You have servants, don't you? If you don't, I brought two of mine."

"Maker, I've missed you." Nathaniel started to cry, again, still smiling. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up..."

"Well, if you do, I'll still be right here, because I'm not getting out of bed until lunch." Elissa's voice quavered, even as she tried to stay witty for him. "Oh, Nate, let's not do that again. Who am I going to upset Fergus with if anything happens to you?"

And then Nathaniel was laughing again, as he wiped his face on the corner of the sheet. Laundry's problem, as Anders always used to say. On the other side of the room, another sheet slid off the portrait it had been covering and Nathaniel groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.

"What--?" Elissa twisted to look over her shoulder. "Oh, I remember that one! You were so cute! Why's that in here, instead of with the rest of the family?"

"Because it's the last one Dad had painted of me. What was I, there? Sixteen? Seventeen? He hated it. The one in the other room's the one from when I was eight. He got new ones for Thomas and Delilah, but never another for me." Nathaniel's voice was muffled by the pillow.

"But, you looked so heroic in that one! Any nobleman would be thrilled to look that good." Elissa paused. "And I'll have you know, Lord Howe, you look even better now, particularly when you're not trying to smother yourself with a pillow." She grabbed it and tried to wrest it away from him, giving up only after he punched himself in the eye, trying to keep it over his face.

"Ow. Did... did I just... Did you just get me to punch myself in the face?" Nathaniel peered suspiciously over the top of the pillow.

"Strictly accidental. I just let go of the pillow and you took care of the rest, yourself." Elissa batted her eyes and Nathaniel huffed. "But, who wouldn't want a portrait like that hanging?"

Nathaniel groaned again. "It was a little too heroic. I guess I looked a little much like the Hero of River Dane. I don't see it, but he was convinced it was proof my mother had been cheating on him. He'd been saying it for years, but I don't think he ever considered I might actually be a bastard, until that moment. Which I'm not. He's just ... you know my father."

"Well, he must've gotten over it at some point! He almost put Teyrn Loghain on the throne!" Elissa protested.

"I still don't know what he was thinking, but it probably involved blackmail and eventually putting me on the throne. Or probably Thomas, but I'm not sure how that would work. He had plans. Most of them were stupid plans, and I'm really sorry you got caught in the middle of whatever the fuck that was." Nathaniel swatted the pillow aside and pulled Elissa onto him, arms as tight around her as he could get them. "He wanted the Cousland seat, but I thought he meant that abstractly, like, we'd be married and then if anything happened to your brother, our child would inherit. Sort of a passive addition of more Howes to your family. But, I guess when Fergus had his own son... And he already wasn't sure if I was actually his son, and if that came out after we were married, his claims would've been wrecked. What kind of alliance do you make marrying off your wife's bastard son?"

"He was really a bit of a loon, wasn't he, your father?" Elissa shook her head and leaned down to kiss Nathaniel.

"I just never took him for a killer. I mean, if there was anyone I'd expected he might kill it was my mother, but that was... that would've been a moment's doing, not months of plotting and a fucking army. I always thought he liked your father. I thought he liked your father better than he liked my mother, half the time."

"I don't think my father was into that, but I can't say I ever asked," Elissa joked propping her chin on her hands as she settled just shy of Nathaniel's face.

"That -- ew. That's not what I meant." Nathaniel looked horrified at the concept.

"And what about you, hm? Did I hear some whispers about you and some handsome mage?"

"Are we talking about this?" Nathaniel asked, covering his face again. "I don't want to talk about this. Anders was there. We had a problem." He gestured toward his crotch with one hand and then dropped it back onto his face. "We solved the problem so we could get some fucking sleep. The end."

"I always knew you'd join me in my appreciations of the delights of gentlemen's flesh," Elissa replied, with a smug smile.

"It's not like that. It's... just Anders, really. And we were drunk. Actually, we spent a lot of time drunk. At this point in my life, it might be fair to say that I'm a drunk, but in my defence, you were dead at the time. And, now you're obviously not, so I won't have that driving me to the bottle, any longer." Nathaniel took a deep breath, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Can we not talk about Anders? They're saying he's dead, and I really don't have words for how angry the politics of the whole affair make me. And it is politics. I'm really coming to hate politics, and the longer I'm not Arl of Amaranthine, the happier I am for it."

"You cared about him."

"He was the healer."

Elissa hissed, sucking breath through her teeth. "That is a different story, isn't it."

"It is. We've lost so much with just two Wardens -- well, I suppose Justice was a Warden. Sort of. Kristoff was, at least -- It's a long story." Nathaniel shook his head.

"Justus? Tevinter name, isn't it? That's curious. No wonder it's political." Elissa shifted her weight, trying to get Nathaniel's hips to stop digging into her belly.

"No, no. Justice. As in 'truth and justice'. He was a spirit. Is a spirit. I don't know, do spirits have a past tense? Do they die? I don't know. I liked him. You always knew where you stood with Justice. You never knew where you stood with Anders, except that he'd like it better if you were lying down. Hopeless. Trashy. Not nearly as funny as he thought he was."

"You liked him anyway. I know that look."

"After a few drinks." Nathaniel shrugged, hands still resting on the curve of his eyesockets. "Solona recruited him before she got near me. I don't know what happened there, but I guess she swiped him out from under some very angry templars, and they kept after him -- Warden mages aren't the templars' problem any more. They're the First Warden's problem. They're the Commander's problem. But, they just wouldn't let go. Kept trying to take him back -- a healer, can you believe it? Said he was dangerous and a murderer, and I guess you can never tell, but he was a happy asshole, not an angry asshole. It was ridiculous and it was all completely illegal, once he'd made it through the Joining. He belonged to Solona, then, just like the rest of us."

"What happened?" Elissa asked, quietly.

"He and Justice went out on a patrol. Just some regular stuff in the Wending Wood. Nothing exciting. But, the templars had kept slipping men into the recruitment queue, trying to say they were doing their part to defend Ferelden. And I guess a team of templars caught up with them in the woods. There's nothing but a scorch mark left, melted metal and a few bits of bone. The trees are gone. There's talk of a dragon." Nathaniel moved his hands, dropping them above his head as he looked up at Elissa, eyes red. "They're lying to us. No one's seen a dragon take flight. Not around here. But, they found part of Justice's armour, the broken pieces of the crystal from Anders's staff. No one could've survived it."

"Except the healer?" Elissa suggested, the corner of her mouth tipping up.

"Then why wouldn't he come back here? With an accusation like he'd be carrying after something like that, _I'd_ pick a fight with the Knight-Vigilant! There are laws! There are treaties to protect the Wardens from exactly this sort of horseshit! What benefit does someone gain from conscription, if they're suddenly trapped in one place for whoever was after them before?" Nathaniel slammed his fist against the headboard. "It's the politics. I hate politics."

"A good thing I'm not teyrna after all, then!" Elissa planted a quick kiss on Nathaniel's nose.

"Marry me," Nathaniel sighed, putting his arms around Elissa, again. "We can be the king and queen of nothing. Gloriously apolitical. We'll spend every day in bed, and every night I'll go slay darkspawn, while you... what do you do, these days?"

"Mostly, I get in bed with witless young noblemen who don't know when to shut up, and then I make sure my brother knows whose idiot plans are likely to impact our holdings." Elissa squirmed down to nibble under Nathaniel's chin.

"Your own brother is using you for that, and he's got the balls to talk to _me_ about how I treat you?" Nathaniel scoffed.

"No, no. Fergus just sort of covers his eyes and pretends it isn't happening." Elissa chuckled and pushed two fingers into Nathaniel's mouth. "What can I say? It's something to do. No one's quite sure who I am, yet, after all, since they generally think I'm dead."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sucked at the fingers in his mouth, licking at the edges and nipping at the knuckles. He knew what came next -- usually him.

"Do you remember," he said, after Elissa had scraped the spit from his tongue and rolled to the side to better reach him, "when you sent me that little tin of salve?"

"I was so hoping you'd write back about that, but when you didn't, I was sure it hadn't gotten to you at all!" She nudged his legs apart with her elbow and then slid her wet fingers down to tease the edges of his hole.

Nathaniel shivered, spreading his legs wider and canting his hips up. "I did write, but not everything I wrote made it to you. I wanted you so much. I wanted you to put that salve inside me, so I could have you all night. But, all I had was my hands and a nightshirt to stuff in my mouth, so no one would hear me calling out your name. I guess there's no need for a salve, now."

"You say the sweetest things." Elissa pressed a kiss to the tip of Nathaniel's knob as she pressed a finger into him.

"Elissa..." Nathaniel pleaded, toes clutching at the bedsheet. "Don't tease..."

"Oh, but when I tease, you beg and scream for me." Elissa pouted up at Nathaniel, along the length of his knob.

"Make it three fingers, and I'll beg and scream for you anyway," Nathaniel promised, propping himself on one elbow to reach down and run the other hand through Elissa's hair, spilling it across his thigh.

"Three?" Both of Elissa's eyebrows lifted. "You _have_ been busy, haven't you?"

Nathaniel tipped his head back, studying the ceiling. "The healer had big hands."

The stone of the halls echoed with those promised screams, as Sigrun and Velanna came up the stairs, headed for the rooms on the floor below.

"Is he always this loud? I thought that was just, you know, Anders." Sigrun gestured obscenely.

Velanna snorted into her hand. "Do you think he'd be offended if we bought him a gag?" She paused and considered it. "Would it be better if he was?"

Sigrun leaned on the wall, laughing. "No, no, we have to give it to _her_ , in front of him!"

"He'll never speak to us again!" Velanna choked out between cackles, as another shriek of passion echoed down the stairs.

"Of course he will," Sigrun wheezed, "and he'll turn purple and stare at the ceiling when he does." She struggled to catch her breath. "Do it?"

"Do it," Velanna agreed, letting go of the wall to step out into the hall their rooms were on.


End file.
